


Any Other Canvas

by Kgraces



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Broken Bones, Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Strangulation, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Torture, Whump, titan's tower au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 19:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kgraces/pseuds/Kgraces
Summary: Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Cold-Blooded TortureThe colors would be beautiful anywhere else, but against Tim's skin, they're just painful.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2219895
Comments: 10
Kudos: 188
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	Any Other Canvas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [envysparkler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/gifts).



> Dearest Envy, I hope this can make your day a little better. Sending you lots of love! <3

Who is Jason Todd?

He is: the Red Hood, a merciless crime lord, one of the world’s best marksmen, a dead man walking, a skilled assassin, a former street rat, cold-blooded, the son of Bruce Wayne, no one’s son, Batman’s greatest failure, poisoned by the Lazarus Pit, partially insane,  _ lethal. _

Robin. 

More importantly, Jason Todd is alive. 

Tim isn’t sure if it’s the waters of the Pit crawling through his veins, or if his anger is truly this potent, but Jason stalks closer with murderous intent, nonetheless. His hands shake; he feels the fury directed toward him as a bone-crushing weight against his chest, and his heart beats like a bird’s fluttering wings in a frantic rhythm. 

“Hello little cuckoo bird,” Jason says, and his voice is a low, soft growl through the voice modulators in his helmet. He snarls, and it sounds like a feral animal is clawing against his rib cage—a predator crooning at its prey. Tim stiffens, eyes going wide behind the domino mask. He’s done research on the Red Hood, even been shuttled off to San Francisco to keep him as far away as possible, but seeing him in person—knowing it’s Jason underneath that helmet—and hearing the darkness in his tone is jarring. 

“Jason,” Tim says warily. He backs up half a step, muscles tensing when Jason follows him. “Why are you here?” He has a few guesses, but stalling might give him enough time to come up with a plan. 

“You’re wearing a death shroud, Replacement, and that’s an invitation,” Jason replies, voice soft and almost condescending. “One I intend to respond to in kind.” 

Tim is alone in the Tower, and the comms are down. A sickening dread creeps through him, but he ignores the feeling to focus on finding a way out. Tim reaches for his bo staff, readying himself for a fight. Jason surprises him, though, by drawing a gun and shooting him in the thigh before he can even react. Tim lets out a shout, using the staff to keep himself upright. He can’t see Jason’s expression under the helmet, but the laugh rumbling from his chest is chilling. 

Tim’s mind blanks, plans deserting him as he switches into a primal fight-or-flight mode. He chooses flight, crippled as he is by the injury to his leg. He stumbles a little, shaking off the pain as best he can, and runs toward the stairwell. If he can reach his room, he might be able to get a distress call out with his personal panic button. He falters at the first step, leg shrieking at him, but Tim grits his teeth and glances around, frantic. He can hear heavy footsteps behind him—close, too close. 

It’s fine. He can do this.

Tim leaps, grabbing onto the rail of the landing directly across from him. He clambers up and over the railing. The door to the stairwell opens, and his breath hitches. Tim bolts down the stairs as quickly as he can with a bullet still lodged in his thigh. He hears mechanized laughter behind him, and a jolt of fear runs through his bones. Tim pushes himself to go faster. He’s almost at the bottom of the stairs now. If he can just make it to the door....

He stumbles again, falling down the last flight. He hears the snap before he feels the burn in his wrist, and he can’t stop the cry of pain. Tim picks himself up off the floor and hobbles to the door, but before he can open it, a heavy boot kicks him in the back. The bo staff clatters to the ground, and Tim crumples again. He rolls onto his side to see Jason looming over him. 

Jason picks him up by the collar and drags him out of the stairwell, heading for the training room. Tim tries to lash out at him, but with one good arm against enforced body armor, he’s fighting a losing battle. Jason drops him at the mats and digs his heel into the wound on Tim’s leg, laughing again when Tim has to visibly bite back a shout. 

“Don’t worry Replacement,” Jason coos. “I won’t kill you.” 

The next moment, he draws a knife from his belt, and the terror returns. He’s not going to kill Tim, but Jason’s certainly not going to leave him alone until he’s bled enough. Jason leans down and cuts the R off of Tim’s uniform. He holds the scrap of fabric in his hand for a long moment before shaking his head and tossing it to the floor. The knife descends again, carving not into the tunic but rather Tim’s skin, tracing the outline of Robin’s insignia, right over Tim’s heart.

He doesn’t scream, but it’s a near thing. He blinks up at the impassive red helmet, shuddering, and Jason pauses for a moment. Tim doesn’t bother hoping he’s decided to stop, and he’s proven right when Jason merely reaches up and removes the helmet, tossing it to the floor with a loud clatter. He removes his domino mask, too, just so Tim can see just how much he’s enjoying this. Then, he kneels down and tears off Tim’s mask, for good measure. 

Jason traces the knife around Tim’s eyes, outlining the mask. He drags it down, over his cheek and jaw, to press against his throat. Jason smiles at the sight of the scar he’d left the last time he slit Tim’s throat. He applies just enough pressure to draw blood, and Tim fights back a wince. He draws the knife away from Tim’s skin, smiling still, and then, he stabs him in the shoulder, twisting the blade. Tim does scream, this time, blinking back hot tears at the blinding pain. 

Jason leans back on his heels and _ laughs. _

He pulls the knife out and wipes the blood off on Tim’s tunic before he places it back in his belt. Moments later, he has two other knives, serrated and wicked-looking, and he pins down Tim’s right arm with an iron grip, clutching the broken wrist so tightly he can feel the bones grind together. He only has a moment to wonder what Jason’s going to do next before one of the blades stabs through his hand, pinning it to the floor. He repeats the same process with Tim’s left hand, leaving Tim feeling like a butterfly encased in glass. 

His breathing is shallow and too fast, and Jason’s leering at him with sick glee in his eyes. Jason hums, studying his handiwork, and after a moment, he reaches for another weapon. This time, it’s Tim’s own bo staff. A tear slides down Tim’s cheek, and Jason rests his free hand on Tim’s face, gently thumbing it away. Tim hates himself for leaning into the touch. Jason’s hand drifts to his hair, pushing the dark, sweaty locks out of his eyes and combing his fingers through the strands. Tim’s eyes flutter shut, a confusing mix of comfort and horror swirling in his stomach. 

The bo staff cracks down against his collarbone, and Tim  _ screams. _ The next swing hits his fingers, then his left knee, the fingers on his other hand, his right ankle. Tim sobs hard, trying to keep his crying as quiet as he can. He doesn’t want to give Jason the satisfaction of breaking him, but everything hurts, and he just wants it to stop. His ribs crack, and the scream is cut off by a harsh wheeze.

He must lose time, because the next moment he’s aware of, the knife is back. Tim turns his face away and catches sight of his staff on the ground, bloodied, a dark crimson. He whimpers as the tip of the knife digs into his broken collarbone. Jason cuts a path down Tim’s arm, a swirling pattern which could’ve been beautiful on any other canvas. Tim’s broken sobs have petered out into soft whines and hitched breaths. 

Jason uses his fists, next.

His torso will be a patchwork of bruises, yellows and greens and dark purples, if Tim does actually survive this ordeal. He has his doubts, at this point. Those hands wrap around his throat, constricting his airway until he sees black spots at the edges of his vision. Jason lets him go right when Tim is on the brink of passing out. Tim coughs, throat feeling like it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper after the screaming and strangling.

“Please,” he manages to croak. It’s a pathetic sound, but it’s all he can muster. “Jason, please stop. Please I-I  _ can’t. _ It hurts.” He dissolves into tears, sobs painful against his broken ribs and raw throat. “I’ll do anything, Jason, please. Just stop hurting me.” He blinks up at the former Robin, tears falling freely.

“Begging?” Jason murmurs. “I’d expected better from you, Replacement.” 

“J-just kill me. Make it  _ stop.”  _ Tim lets out a wounded noise as he shifts, aggravating the injuries he has all over his body. “Please make it stop hurting.”

_ That  _ seems to catch Jason’s attention. His eyes flare a darker green, and Tim flinches instinctively. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Jason snarls. “No more dead birds. Got it?” Tim lifts his head, crying still but feeling a spark of defiance flicker to life. He lets it grow into a roaring flame before he opens his mouth.

“Does that make you feel better about yourself? It’s the  _ only  _ difference between you and your namesake, Red Hood.” Jason stumbles back, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, expression twisting into something Tim can’t place. He doesn’t have enough time to puzzle it out before everything goes dark.

Tim wakes up—and isn’t that a surprise?—in the medbay. Everything hurts, but he’s able to crack open an eye without further injuring himself, so that’s a win. He hears a soft gasp to his left, and he manages to tilt his head to the side. His vision is a little blurry still, but he recognizes his brother sitting at his bedside.

Dick’s eyes are red, with dark shadows pooling underneath them and a haunted look trapped in his irises. Tim offers him a weak smile, and the one he gets in return is watery. 

“Hi there Timmy,” Dick says softly. He cards a hand through Tim’s hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Decidedly not great,” Tim rasps, sounding like he’s gargled with sharp rocks. He cringes at the sound of his own voice. “Where’s Jason?”

“Here,” a familiar voice says. Tim blinks and turns his head to look across from him. Jason sits in a chair directly opposite the bed, head in his hands. He’s wearing new clothes, Tim notes. His old outfit had definitely been much bloodier. “I...wanted to make sure you woke up.”

“I thought you would’ve left me there,” Tim mutters. Jason looks up, stricken.

“I was planning on it, but...shit Tim, I’m no better than  _ him. _ I don’t want to be like that. You—-you’re just a kid.”

“You knew that the whole time,” Tim says coolly. “When did it start to matter?”

“When you said it,” Jason replies, voice dropping to a near whisper. “It made it real. I saw myself, crawling across that warehouse floor, but I knew at least I had hope someone would come for me. You were begging me to kill you, and the  _ look  _ in your eyes, I—” He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off the bad memories. “It snapped me out of it.”

“So he called me,” Dick says, gently breaking off Jason’s train of thought. “He’d already gotten you patched up by the time I got here, but he wanted to make sure you had someone you’d feel safe with when you woke up.” 

“Oh,” Tim says. “I...I’m glad I’ll at least have seen you one last time.”

“What are you  _ talking  _ about?”

“Robin.” His voice is a pained croak, and it’s not entirely because of the bruises wrapping around his throat. “Robin belongs to Jason, and besides, I’ve failed, right?”

“Tim, no.” Dick hushes him gently. He strokes Tim’s hair again, smiling so sadly at him it must hurt. “You won’t ever have Robin taken away from you. Not until you choose to move on, okay?” 

“I can’t take it back, anyways,” Jason says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Not with the blood on my hands. Not with  _ your  _ blood on my hands. I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make any of this better, but it’s true.”

“Do you want to make things better?” Tim asks. He feels the heavy pull of unconsciousness clawing at the back of his mind, but he pushes it back. This isn’t something he can afford to pass out before he says. Jason nods, expression solemn and so very hurt. His eyes seem less green. 

“I don’t think I can, Tim.”

“You can,” Tim argues stubbornly. Dick’s hand in his hair is making him drowsy, but he pushes through. “I’ll ask you again. Do you want to make things better?”

“More than anything.”

“Then come home.” 


End file.
